"What...just happened?"
Welt stood frozen near the platform's edge, the wind from the still-settling shockwave ruffling his coat.
He had only just stepped off the train, fully prepared to assist in the evacuation or subdue whatever remained of the threat, only to be greeted with… this.
His eyes drifted toward the distant horizon of space where Simon's gargantuan drill had carved straight through the void.
A cosmic tunnel now shimmered there, like a wound in the sky stitched together with light.
It pulsed gently, alive with three distinct energies intertwined so tightly he could hardly separate them even with his trained senses.
He drew in a slow breath.
The heavy shimmer of golden destruction.
The cold, colorless radiance of a stellaron.
And then… that impossible shade of green that only Simon carried.
Welt narrowed his eyes.
By all logic, by all recorded precedent, that mix should have annihilated the entire sector.
The destruction path paired with a raw Stellaron never resulted in anything but catastrophe.
A chain reaction. Something catastrophic.
Yet the corridor did not destabilize. There was no implosion, no runaway detonation.
Instead, the energies remained stable, almost docile, as if that green spark had soothed them into obedience.
Welt rubbed his temple.
In a sense, they had exploded… just in a direction that didn't kill anyone.
He let out a long breath.
So that was Simon.
When he first met the young man, Welt had simply felt intrigued, mostly because of that strange little mech and the spirited confidence behind Simon's smile.
Even then, he'd sensed something odd in the boy's presence, something that didn't fit within the catalog of worlds he knew.
But this?
For him to stand at the center of something so extraordinary so soon… it made Welt oddly proud. A small, almost paternal pride curled in Welt's chest before he caught himself.
A young man capable of this much… it's impressive. Maybe too impressive.
But then again, the universe always had its exceptions.
His musings drifted, inevitably, to March.
And then there's March 7th…
He paused, one brow twitching upward, stopping himself with a quiet cough.
Ahem.
Comparing anyone to Simon was unfair.
That boy belonged squarely in the category of "once in a lifetime absurdity."
March, however… March was simply March.
A different kind of exception entirely.
Welt shook his head, steadied his footing, and hurried toward the master control zone.
If he didn't check on the crew now, he feared whatever scene awaited him might grow even more chaotic than what he'd already witnessed.
...
Welt stepped into the master control zone and stopped dead in his tracks.
He stared for several seconds, then took off his glasses and wiped them slowly, almost ritualistically, as if clearer lenses might reveal a more believable reality.
But they did not.
"You're now a member of team Dai-Gurren, don't forget to answer the call when I'm saving the universe!"
Simon slapped a male researcher on the shoulder. The researcher staggered off, starstruck, looking as if he might faint from happiness, clutching an autograph in one hand and sporting a temporary tattoo of a flaming skull with sunglasses on his cheek.
Beside him, Stelle—who Welt had already been briefed on—stood guard with her bat.
She swung it on her palm slowly, warning off anyone who tried to cut the line.
The researchers did not seem deterred in the slightest, shouting encouragements as if they were witnessing the birth of a galactic celebrity.
Many actually looked honored to be threatened by her too.
Somewhere off to the side, March 7th had created a makeshift booth and was handing out fliers she had apparently designed on the spot with alarming gusto.
Welt didn't know what they advertised and suspected he did not want to, but given her enthusiasm, he doubted they were authorized by the station.
What baffled him more was Dan Heng beside her, helping distribute pens and organizing the queue with the expression of a man who had long accepted that resistance was futile.
The image didn't fit him at all and that made it even stranger that he had somehow been roped into this circus.
Welt pinched the bridge of his nose.
They had all looked so composed, so mature, so utterly dependable mere minutes ago, standing together in the face of an existential threat.
And now this.
He couldn't help a small, fond sigh.
It was good they got along. Better that they could still laugh after the chaos they'd endured. Youth deserved moments like these… even if he wished they displayed a little more restraint.
He stepped further inside, deciding that whatever the meaning of "Team Dai-Gurren" was, he would deal with it after he made sure nobody was about to get trampled by fans.
But it would seem he was a step too late.
"Go away, don't you people have anything productive to do?"
Madam Herta, in puppet form, shoved herself through the crowd, with Asta and Himeko flanking her like shepherds.
Most of the researchers scattered immediately, but a few stubborn souls refused to budge.
"S-sorry, Madam Herta, but even if I lose my job today, I still have to get my hands on this first-edition limited merch!" one girl declared, shaking like a leaf yet holding her ground.
Simon flashed her a thumbs-up. "You've got good business sense! It's a wonder you're not working for the IPC."
"T-thank you! I-I just study hard…" She blushed fiercely, entirely ignoring Herta's glare.
Herta stared at her for a long moment.
"Seriously. Where do you think you are? A theme park?" She exhaled sharply and gestured with her chin. "Asta. Handle this."
Asta leaned in to the girl with a gentle smile.
"I'll have some signed items delivered to your quarters later, okay? So don't worry."
The girl gasped, nodded fervently, and bolted away
Herta watched her run off before turning around coolly. "Give her a bonus. We need more people with grit."
"Understood," Asta said, as if this were completely normal.
Himeko giggled quietly behind her hand.
Herta sniffed and ignored her.
Welt cleared his throat, ready to greet the station master.
"It's… good to see you, Madam Her—"
Herta walked straight past him.
"…ta," he finished lamely.
He turned to Himeko and Asta instead. They at least stopped to acknowledge him.
"Welcome," Asta said brightly.
"Oh, Welt." Himeko blinked in mild surprise. "I thought you were staying on the train. What changed your mind?"
Welt sighed, giving her a look that bordered on tired resignation. "Please. I know we usually let new members handle their own trial by fire, but this was far beyond any 'typical stop.'"
Himeko chuckled softly. "You're right. But maybe we should ask them what they think."
Welt followed her gaze. It led directly to the sight of Herta confronting Simon, hands planted on her hips as if scolding a child.
"Boy," she announced. "I do not recall granting you permission to hold a sales event on my station."
"Huh? I'm not selling anything," Simon replied with complete sincerity. "It's all free."
"…Really? Then what is that in the gray-haired girl's hand?"
Herta's voice cut through the room like a blade. She pointed toward the back, where Stelle stood stiff as a lamppost.
Simon turned just in time to see a handful of credits slip through Stelle's fingers and clatter to the floor.
The girl flinched like she'd been caught stealing cookies, shoulders lifting, tail-less but somehow still giving the impression of one tucked between her legs.
"Sorry…" she murmured, her voice shrinking smaller with every syllable.
Simon let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead. He looked at her the way a tired parent looked at a kid caught doodling on a wall.
"Stelle," he said, voice heavy with disappointment, "we don't take money from people. We're not the IPC. When we actually start taking off, the cash will come rolling in naturally. And at that point," he added, glancing lightly toward Herta with confidence, "I bet even Herta wouldn't mind selling herself."
Herta slowly turned her head slowly, expression flat.
"I can still hear you," she said, each word crisp as glass. "And I very much doubt that."
Simon only shrugged, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. The kind of smirk that said he absolutely believed every word he'd just spoken…
Stelle, still wilted from earlier, peeked up between them as if waiting for lightning to fall.
It didn't.
Herta simply narrowed her eyes silently.
Welt rubbed his forehead and wondered, not for the first time, whether he should have stayed on the train.
"So," Herta said, leveling a sharp, unblinking stare at both Stelle and Simon, "the little money-grubbing twerp is the Stellaron vessel, and the other one is the maniac who threw the galaxy and my entire station into upheaval?"
A single puppet hand rested on her hip with the weight of judgment.
Stelle shrank immediately, shoulders curling inward.
She rubbed the back of her head with a small, guilty grimace. She didn't even want the credits.
She just thought… well, maybe it would make the moment feel more official for the fans.
People liked trading something precious for something meaningful, right? Probably.
Maybe.
The logic sounded a lot smarter in her head.
Simon clicked his tongue softly, a look of offense crossing his face as he folded his arms.
"If you're trying to say 'thank you for saving my staff,'" he replied, voice bright with indignation, "then you're very welcome."
Herta stared at him another second, as if wondering how a single man could be so brazenly unbothered by everything he'd just caused.
Simon simply met her gaze with absolutely no intention of feeling sorry.
Even Stelle hesitated before glancing down at Herta, silently hoping Simon's answer counted for both of them.
Unexpectedly, Herta exhaled a calm breath and gave a small nod.
"Fine," she said, voice returning to its usual cool, matter-of-fact tone. "Be that as it may, name your reward and I'll see it provided."
Her gaze sharpened as it swept over both Simon and Stelle, studying them like rare specimens.
"So long as the two of you remain cooperative in my experiments. A contained Stellaron in one body, and an unidentified energy source in the other. How curious."
There was no malice in her voice, only pure scientific interest.
Stelle shrank back a little at the word experiments, her fingers curling around her bat like it might protect her from being dissected on the spot.
She wasn't even sure what kind of expression she was supposed to make.
All she managed was a stiff nod that made her look like she was bracing for a shot.
Simon tilted his head and regarded Herta as if she were offering a two-for-one dinner coupon.
"Any reward?" he murmured, rubbing his chin. "Sweet. Can I take a few curios and see your real body?"
Herta's eyes glinted. "Hmm...you have good taste. I'll think about it. As for the curios, just take your pick and tell Asta."
Stelle perked up instantly and stepped forward. "I want...lots of credits...as long as the experiments are not too painful."
Asta hovered anxiously behind the puppet, torn between supporting her boss and preventing another diplomatic incident. "M-Madam Herta means harmless research! Very harmless! Mostly harmless…"
Himeko pinched the bridge of her nose. "Asta, dear, that's not helping."
Welt finally stepped forward, clearing his throat in an attempt to insert a sliver of maturity into the conversation.
"Station Master Herta," he said, adjusting his glasses, "while cooperation is within reason, we should not impose on them so soon. They've just come out of a battle that shook half the orbit."
Herta blinked at him once, unbothered. "Which makes it the perfect time to test their limits. Stress reveals far more than stability."
Stelle paled.
Simon looked amused.
March, standing between them, was practically vibrating with outrage. "Herta! They just saved your station and your researchers and your hair from getting fried! Can't you at least let them rest before poking them with needles?"
"My hair is not a variable to be considered," Herta replied. "And I don't poke things. I examine them."
"That's worse!"
Simon gave March a sympathetic pat on the head. "Easy, March. If she tries to break us open, I'll break the table first."
The puppet Herta swivelled her head toward him with eerie smoothness. "You are welcome to try. My tables are made of condensed antimatter-resistant alloy."
Simon looked genuinely impressed. "Nice. I'll need one for my room."
Stelle tugged lightly at his sleeve. "Simon… maybe don't provoke her…?"
Her voice was small, but there was trust underneath the nerves.
He softened immediately.
"Relax," he told her quietly, leaning closer so only she could hear. "I'm not letting anyone turn you into a lab project."
She nodded, a little relieved, though her heart still fluttered with lingering fear.
Herta watched the subtle exchange with clinical interest.
"Very well," she said at last, raising a hand in dismissal. "I won't drag you off immediately. But cooperation will happen."
Her puppet tapped a foot thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I shall prepare the data logs. Hime-whatshername, keep an eye on them. The energetic one especially."
Himeko blinked. "…Which one?"
"All of them," Herta said, and walked off.
Asta hurried after her with an apologetic wave.
Welt managed a long-suffering smile
Dan Heng shook his head once before turning back toward the Express.
And the moment the adults were out of earshot, March let out a groan so loud it echoed.
"Great," she complained, slumping dramatically. "Now you're the science project of the youngest old lady in the universe."
Simon clapped his hands once, almost cheerfully. "Look at it this way. If she tries anything strange, we drill first and ask questions never."
Stelle stifled a tiny laugh despite herself.
...
Somewhere out in the galaxy, a quiet ship drifted through starlight.
A black cat stretched lazily on the glossy table, its tail flicking once before it rolled onto its feet.
It hopped down, padding through the dim hallway until it reached a lounge occupied by four people.
The cat jumped onto the long sofa between them. Its pupils contracted. A strange shimmer rolled through its eyes, washing out the usual yellow and replacing it with a deep blue glow.
"Oh?" The violet-haired woman on the end, swirling a glass of red wine between her fingers, stroked the cat's back with casual affection. Her gaze wandered to the endless starfield outside the window. "A new script, Elio?"
Her voice cut cleanly through the quiet, drawing attention from everyone in the room.
None of them spoke often when they gathered like this. They all had their own thoughts, their own burdens.
The voice that answered her did not belong to the cat.
"Kafka." The boyish voice resonated from the animal's throat. "Change of plans. Silver Wolf's interference diverged the timeline again. Too far this time. Now, there are only two paths left."
A bubble popped.
Silver Wolf stopped mid-combo, her fingers frozen over her glowing console. Her game displayed a mocking GAME OVER, but she barely blinked at it.
She peeled off her gum, flicked it into the trash without looking, and immediately opened a new game window.
"What do you mean?" she asked in between inputs, tone light enough to fool anyone who didn't know her.
But everyone here knew her. And they all felt it: the tight worry simmering underneath her voice.
That interference Elio mentioned… the override she'd performed on Lagann's controls to keep the script on track… had not sat well with her.
Elio had warned her. Simon's death was a real possibility. In every timeline where he died, Stelle's heart shattered beyond repair.
A descent into despair so deep that no one, not even the Astral Express, could reach her again.
Both outcomes were unacceptable.
Yet Simon's very existence twisted the script anew every hour. Guiding the future now felt like walking on thin ice, each step threatening to fall into a void of unknown timelines.
And she wasn't the only one who felt the pressure. Even Blade, even Kafka, even Firefly, each wore their concern quietly.
Ever since Simon was found drifting in space with that strange mech, every prophecy Elio uttered began to change.
Threads that used to flow like clear rivers turned into storms of branching chaos. And somehow, the fates of everyone here had become tangled with his.
Elio continued.
"Scenario one," he began. "We keep correcting the timeline. We follow the old script. Everything stays mostly stable until they reach Amphoreus. Irontomb's awakening gets delayed by a few months. The Astral Express runs into Zephyro. A battle breaks out. Simon defeats every Lord Ravager. Even Zephyro falls."
He paused.
"But then an unknown force forcefully triggers Irontomb. All life becomes corrupted. Everyone but Simon dies. He loses control. His power spikes past any ceiling. Entropy accelerates infinitely. And the universe collapses in a big crunch."
No one spoke.
Firefly's hand drifted to her chest, gripping the fabric over her heart. "And scenario two?"
Her voice trembled quietly. She rarely allowed fear to surface, but this involved Simon… and indirectly, herself. The person Elio promised she would one day walk beside.
The person she feared losing more than she feared her own fate.
She knew how tightly her script wound around his. She knew what her destiny demanded. If it meant saving countless lives or repaying her sins, she would gladly pay the price.
Even if it cost her every happiness she could ever have.
Elio looked at her through the cat's eyes.
He wished he could give her certainty. He wished he could restore the clarity the future once had.
But the branching timelines had grown unruly. Too many to sift through. Too many possible ends. He was no longer sure of anything. Not truly.
He breathed out.
"Scenario two. We stop interfering with the Astral Express altogether. We only move in the shadows. We only adjust external factors. Events proceed almost exactly as predicted, with minor deviations that don't disrupt the grand pattern. We give the Express the key information they need, exactly when they need it. Simon handles the rest. Stelle grows as she must."
He paused again.
"Irontomb never awakens. Every Lord Ravager eventually falls throughout their journey. The entire crew rises up together. Even the universe itself answers the call and ends the war between the Aeons."
Firefly exhaled softly, eyes trembling with hope.
"But…" Kafka prompted, leaning in, her glass forgotten on the table.
Elio's silence spoke volumes.
Blade clicked his tongue. "Say it."
"This future is the most unstable," Elio said quietly. "Full of holes. Blank edges. Missing threads. I only see fragments. It is a patchwork fate held together by luck and miracles. I cannot guarantee it. Not any of it."
Kafka set the cat gently down, poured herself another glass, and simply sat back with a sigh.
Silver Wolf didn't speak. She just opened a new projection with a few taps.
A live feed of the space station appeared.
Simon lounging by Lagann.
Stelle running around helping researchers.
Silver Wolf watched them without blinking, her expression neutral. Firefly drifted closer to see as well.
On screen, the moment Simon was alone, he looked up from the railing.
Right at them.
Right into her projection. Into her eyes.
He raised a hand and mouthed clearly, as if speaking through the screen itself.
"Don't do that again."
Silver Wolf's game windows exploded into green static.
Every projection flickered violently, then shattered like glass.
Blade shot to his feet, weapon drawn. Kafka set her wine down and squared her shoulders.
Firefly braced instinctively, heart pounding.
The quiet room turned electric.
"Interesting," Blade murmured, gripping his weapon as if it could barely contain his excitement. His smile tilted downward, vicious and hungry. "As expected… of the man who will kill me."